Forgiveness is such a tricky thing.
In a moment, it's given - but i think so many of us fail to consider what kind of a commitment we're making when we give forgiveness. It works more like a promise than a one time gift: a promise to work through - persistently, carefully, thoughtfully - whatever grief or sorrow comes later as a result of the wrong done.
i lamented some residual anger that i had to deal with to my mom. i told her that sometimes a feeling like that will take me by surprise, "Didn't i already deal with that?" But God just digs in deeper; revealing another opportunity to grow. My mom's response was, "it's like, ok, can you do it with your hands tied now? Trigonometry... haha!"
And it reminded me of an analogy i read earlier today about growth. That phrase, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" has always irked me. I've often allowed myself to view my sorrows like a poison... Sure, maybe i'm alive, but i'm weaker as a result. Their analogy was comparing brokenness to muscle growth (i heart muscle growth). She said, the way we grow muscles when we work them, is that the fibres literally tear and our body takes that cue to repair the muscle stronger (bigger, better) than it was before. i often think of that a day or two after after a crazy good workout. It hurts differently than it did during the workout. i'm SORE and those tears HURT... But, my body has taken those times of rebuilding and has made my muscles bigger... stronger...
It's the eve of a new year.
And it's so funny to find myself grateful for every workout... physical and spiritual... that has torn down the very fibres of my body and the fabric of my heart... and allowed me to greet this new year stronger than before.
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Saturday, October 3, 2015
It's a new season - HOPE
i thank God for fresh new mercies every single morning...
But i do get special breath of inspiration after the winter break as the new year dawns and i feel more refreshed and bold - full of optimism and confidence as i look ahead. It has become a bit of a habit to choose a word in the new year, but this year instead of choosing a word for the new year, my word chose me...
Hope.
It came to me in verses, instagram posts, conversations. It was pointed out by friends, my kids, in our devotionals... It became almost comical as i laughingly predicted out loud to my kids one mid-December day that the word would be confirmed to me one more time and then texting them the mind boggling confirmation hours later.
i've wrestled with hope over the years. The delicate balance that exists between contentment and desire - between drive and acceptance; this has always been something i carried awkwardly. i could easily jump on to eternal hope - but got bogged down when i tried to carry hope into the here and now of my life. i'd lose hope when things got hard, when things didn't go my way, when i didn't see any possibility of redemption this side of eternity.
But Hope chased me down at Christmas time and i let it catch me. Winter melted into spring and hope was relentless. Summer burned itself out and the blazing glory of fall colours refused to sing an ending song; instead they called me to hope - ever louder, with increasing urgency.
A friend recently encouraged me with an off hand remark that she admired my flexibility with life.
It almost made me cry - this friendly encouragement about something that has been so hard won. i've been wrestling with and praying about this new season that we're heading into, (not having babies and simultaneously my oldest babies stretching out wings and preparing to leave the nest). i think i've felt at times almost like i could lose myself... like so much of my identity rested in child-bearing that i wouldn't know how to navigate the transition. i didn't want to transition. i resisted transition, fought it, cried over it, grieved it... And finally, i buried my face in my Father's chest and poured out my heart... "My hope is gone. The end of this season of life, brings the beginning of the season of death, and i'm not ready... i don't want it."
Gently, tenderly, mercifully... He has been leading me to a deeper understanding of hope. Hope that transcends time - hope that sustains me in the here and now... It has gone hand and hand with surrender, of all things... surrender.
Surrender of beautiful, worthy things is hard. i know it... And it often feels like this surrender is in direct opposition to hope. But when we surrender and our hope becomes not a specific thing or time or person - but instead we begin to hope for what most brings Him glory - it is life giving. When you think you hope for solitude, but God sends noisy, boisterous teenager company... You learn to joyfully hope for those teenagers. When you think you're hoping for your husband to come home, but he's gone and instead you have more time to devote to little boys and stories and all the housekeeping that gets shoved to the side when he's home, you learn to hope to fill your time wisely. When you hope for life to be easy, but instead it's hard, you learn to hope for the fortitude and the character to do hard things.
These lessons didn't happen overnight. The beginning was agonizingly tedious as i'd habitually want to control things that weren't mine to control. i kept track of each set-back... noticing when surrender felt impossible and even wrong... i gave myself a time line - two hundred days of surrender... of hope. Two hundred days where i would be flexible, hope for the good in the change and welcome joyfully all that came to me uninvited. i didn't know what would happen after the two hundred days, but i felt like i could shut my mouth for two hundred days... make notes of my rants, discomfort and failure... and practice a little grace. This summer, i celebrated my two hundredth day and it passed like any other - no fanfare, no burning desire to free myself from the shackles of hope. Maybe it was evidence of my own transformation that i let it pass in anonymity and woke up the next morning ready for more of the same.
i'd like to tell you that everyone around me was amazed by my efforts and by the fruits of obvious change in my life... but i don't know that anyone really noticed... except me. There was the discomfort and pain of surrender, and i knew that part was gonna be hard, but i wasn't prepared for the joy. It snuck up on me the same way the green sneaks up on the grass in spring. Less fierce control - more of the flexibility that my friend assumed was just something that had always been a trademark... There was a fierceness to my newfound joy. My happiness was genuine. i felt good, i felt strong, i felt hope in the here and now, in the daily grind, in the mornings and in the afternoons too. i was transformed by hope.
And i guess part of what i've noticed each year that i learn to recognize my Shepherd's voice is that the things i think i know - are always almost unrecognizably unfamiliar when God teaches them to me. It's so hard to explain a heart change in words - it's so hard to acknowledge His hand when it's internal, eternal, impossible to hold or describe. Surrender, flexibility, humility, joy... hope... words that are familiar and yet now, they're somehow changed; they're strange and new to me... These are the words that He's stirring in my heart in this season, and i'm doing my best to pay attention.
But i do get special breath of inspiration after the winter break as the new year dawns and i feel more refreshed and bold - full of optimism and confidence as i look ahead. It has become a bit of a habit to choose a word in the new year, but this year instead of choosing a word for the new year, my word chose me...
Hope.
It came to me in verses, instagram posts, conversations. It was pointed out by friends, my kids, in our devotionals... It became almost comical as i laughingly predicted out loud to my kids one mid-December day that the word would be confirmed to me one more time and then texting them the mind boggling confirmation hours later.
i've wrestled with hope over the years. The delicate balance that exists between contentment and desire - between drive and acceptance; this has always been something i carried awkwardly. i could easily jump on to eternal hope - but got bogged down when i tried to carry hope into the here and now of my life. i'd lose hope when things got hard, when things didn't go my way, when i didn't see any possibility of redemption this side of eternity.
But Hope chased me down at Christmas time and i let it catch me. Winter melted into spring and hope was relentless. Summer burned itself out and the blazing glory of fall colours refused to sing an ending song; instead they called me to hope - ever louder, with increasing urgency.
A friend recently encouraged me with an off hand remark that she admired my flexibility with life.
It almost made me cry - this friendly encouragement about something that has been so hard won. i've been wrestling with and praying about this new season that we're heading into, (not having babies and simultaneously my oldest babies stretching out wings and preparing to leave the nest). i think i've felt at times almost like i could lose myself... like so much of my identity rested in child-bearing that i wouldn't know how to navigate the transition. i didn't want to transition. i resisted transition, fought it, cried over it, grieved it... And finally, i buried my face in my Father's chest and poured out my heart... "My hope is gone. The end of this season of life, brings the beginning of the season of death, and i'm not ready... i don't want it."
Gently, tenderly, mercifully... He has been leading me to a deeper understanding of hope. Hope that transcends time - hope that sustains me in the here and now... It has gone hand and hand with surrender, of all things... surrender.
Surrender of beautiful, worthy things is hard. i know it... And it often feels like this surrender is in direct opposition to hope. But when we surrender and our hope becomes not a specific thing or time or person - but instead we begin to hope for what most brings Him glory - it is life giving. When you think you hope for solitude, but God sends noisy, boisterous teenager company... You learn to joyfully hope for those teenagers. When you think you're hoping for your husband to come home, but he's gone and instead you have more time to devote to little boys and stories and all the housekeeping that gets shoved to the side when he's home, you learn to hope to fill your time wisely. When you hope for life to be easy, but instead it's hard, you learn to hope for the fortitude and the character to do hard things.
These lessons didn't happen overnight. The beginning was agonizingly tedious as i'd habitually want to control things that weren't mine to control. i kept track of each set-back... noticing when surrender felt impossible and even wrong... i gave myself a time line - two hundred days of surrender... of hope. Two hundred days where i would be flexible, hope for the good in the change and welcome joyfully all that came to me uninvited. i didn't know what would happen after the two hundred days, but i felt like i could shut my mouth for two hundred days... make notes of my rants, discomfort and failure... and practice a little grace. This summer, i celebrated my two hundredth day and it passed like any other - no fanfare, no burning desire to free myself from the shackles of hope. Maybe it was evidence of my own transformation that i let it pass in anonymity and woke up the next morning ready for more of the same.
i'd like to tell you that everyone around me was amazed by my efforts and by the fruits of obvious change in my life... but i don't know that anyone really noticed... except me. There was the discomfort and pain of surrender, and i knew that part was gonna be hard, but i wasn't prepared for the joy. It snuck up on me the same way the green sneaks up on the grass in spring. Less fierce control - more of the flexibility that my friend assumed was just something that had always been a trademark... There was a fierceness to my newfound joy. My happiness was genuine. i felt good, i felt strong, i felt hope in the here and now, in the daily grind, in the mornings and in the afternoons too. i was transformed by hope.
And i guess part of what i've noticed each year that i learn to recognize my Shepherd's voice is that the things i think i know - are always almost unrecognizably unfamiliar when God teaches them to me. It's so hard to explain a heart change in words - it's so hard to acknowledge His hand when it's internal, eternal, impossible to hold or describe. Surrender, flexibility, humility, joy... hope... words that are familiar and yet now, they're somehow changed; they're strange and new to me... These are the words that He's stirring in my heart in this season, and i'm doing my best to pay attention.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
intercession
The kids and i have been doing a study called, Love to Pray by Alvin Vandergriend in the mornings lately. It's a 40 day devotional that we've done before (i had scrawled the date of the last time we did it on the front cover - January 2006). In it, i had made notes and prayer requests - praying for baby cousins who were on the way tucked in their mother's wombs, prayers for our daddy to find a job as his was in flux as this was right before we ended up moving to Calgary... It has been an interesting trip down memory lane, but more importantly - it has been another invitation (He is constantly inviting...) to walk, run or even crawl deeper into my prayer journey.
Sometimes praying feels like walking a tightrope. i want to pray only the things that are in the will of God, i want to pray authentically... i want to bring Him my hurt, my worry, my heart, my adoration and my joy. i want to pray for others for the areas in their lives that are broken. A word i used that maybe i just made up is, `pre-redeemed`... "What does pre-Christmas mean?" i asked my little ones, "We can only use the word, 'pre-Christmas' because Christmas is coming." i want to have the confidence to use the word, 'pre-redeemed' in the same way - redemption of all the the enemy has stolen is coming, beauty from ashes. i might be living in the 'pre' - but that little word only indicates what is coming, and i can't wait.
Today was beautiful in it's practical applicability. First the question of nagging doubt was tenderly addressed. Do my prayers make any difference at all? If i believe the Bible... if i take God at His word... then i have to believe that through His Great Love for us, God does allow our prayers to make a difference to the history of nations, our family, our communities, our churches... i believe it. i think that belief is no small thing when God is looks for and calls intercessors. If we don't believe that our prayers matter, or that they've had any consequence at all... prayer won't be precious to us, and i think over time we'd probably cease to make time for it at all because what is relationship with a God who remains disengaged from our lives, from our trials and from our pain? Thankfully this isn't how God truly is... He is engaged, He sees, He hears and He takes action on our behalf. He loves us, and is deeply interested in having a relationship with us. He is worthy of our love.
Still, prayer is sometimes hard (like anything worth learning or doing). We run out of things to say, we wonder if maybe we're praying for healing when God is going to use sickness. We wonder if our present suffering is possibly not worth mentioning... we pray alone and our mind drifts and we might feel like we're talking to ourselves. Prayer is something we can grow in, we can learn about, we can get better at. It's not just an intangible feeling, "Sending you good vibes!" It's an intentional conversation with the One in control.
I love the distinction between petition and intercession - and i don't remember making it before in my own mind. Honestly? i think we are in desperate need of both - but sometimes i find i need to focus outside of my own self, and God has used intercession to show me His Great Love for those around me, and in those times i think it has helped me catch just a glimpse of the bigger picture. The devotional i mentioned gave us a small tool to try this morning using the word, BLESS to help us to pray for those around us. The B stood for body needs. We prayed for those who are struggling with their physical body - for strength and healing for sickness, brokenness and disease. We prayed by name for people with needs in their physical body and blessed them. L stood for labour - it was easy to remember to pray for our pastor, for our church leadership and for their families, but we also prayed for Cairo, out getting training for her vocation and for Neil who works for our family. We all labour, but using this little tool brought specific people to mind... and we prayed for them by name. The E was for emotional - there are so many with inner hurts that God wants to heal - the pre-redeemed. We prayed for them. The first S stood for social - (relational) needs. We prayed for families for restoration of brokenness and for these relationships that currently bring pain to begin instead to bring joy and hope and strength to their members. We prayed for families to receive blessing, and also for them to bring glory to God. The last S was for spiritual - for people who need Jesus. We prayed for our friends by name but also for our little community, our neighbours and the world.
And i don't know if it's because Elmer slept in and we had the time and the atmosphere to just *be* before God, to be reminded by Him of the people He loves, to intercede for them and "stand in the gap" between, 'pre-redeemed' and 'redeemed', but even hours later... i'm unable to shake the idea that our prayers from this morning were heard and that their impact will be multi-faceted and generational, because that? That is the kind of God that i serve - and He wastes nothing.
in·ter·ces·sion
ˌintərˈseSHən/
noun
- the action of intervening on behalf of another."through the intercession of friends, I was able to obtain her a sinecure"
synonyms: mediation, intermediation, arbitration, conciliation, negotiation; More
- the action of saying a prayer on behalf of another person."prayers of intercession"
* Ezekiel 22: 30-31
* Luke 11: 5-8
* Philippians 4: 6-7
* 1 John 5: 14-15
* Hebrews 4:16
* Luke 18: 1
* John 16:24
* 1 John 3:21-22
* Mark 11:22-24
* Psalm 66:18-19
* Hebrews 4:16
* Exodus 17: 9, 11
* Romans 8: 26-27
* 1 Timothy 2:1-4
* 1 Thessalonians 5:17
* John 10:27
* Ephesians 6:18
* Matthew 6:9-13
* Ephesians 3: 14-19
* Colossians 1:9-12
* Ephesians 1:17-19
* 1 Chronicles 4:10
* Mark 1:35
* Luke 5:16
* Luke 6:12
* Romans 1: 9-10
* James 5:16
* Luke 22: 31-32
* Revelation 8: 3-5
Friday, September 12, 2014
gratitude
I open up the kid's computer in the office. My laptop died months ago and blogging has been scarce.
Benedict Cumberbatch is the screen saver and he smiles coyly at me - almost mockingly as I gather threads of thoughts wondering if I have anything coherent at all to say.
"I'm grateful..." my heart whispers...
And it's true.
This week has been awesome - school is still getting rolling, my college kid is loving her classes, my baby slept better, my teens are changing every day - but it's the beautiful, welcome kind of change. It's the kind of change that is evidence that there is a Holy God working in their lives, whispering truths, beckoning them to come... and they are heeding that invitation. My "almost teens" are growing too... They're trading childish things for talents and passions that they work on and derive pleasure from. They can do so many things that I could never do... it's fun to watch.
Then my bonus boys...
Oh trust me, I'm grateful. I'm plenty grateful.
Belligerently I stomp my foot, "But God," I whine, "I want him..."
My travelling man has been gone all week - swept up in the vortex of work and meetings and technology blips... I haven't heard more than a few words from him.
The loneliness can be so real...
And it almost makes me howl that I could even use the word "lonely" to describe any aspect of this full life I lead. My arms are so rarely empty and everywhere I turn there is another likable human being willing to share a conversation, a hug, a cookie or a TV show.
But there's sometimes a lonely for just the one person who has seen the very nakedness of your soul - who shares your bed, your body, your memories and your deepest loves... a person to chuckle with in the darkness before sleep comes, the person who seems to have what you lack, and lacks what you have...
Too personal... I backspace, try again, frustrated, flushed, embarrassed - keep it togehter, paige...
In the shower, my finger traces the word in the steam, "invisible".
And my heart, whispering it's gratitude defensively is shushed to silence by the Author's question, "am I enough?"
"Of course you're enough!" I sputter... "Aren't I allowed to want someone? or something? or am I supposed to live in a perpetual state of bliss - desiring nothing but the company of God?"
He's working something out in me... I feel it and the tears sting my eyes and I'm ashamed of the lump in my throat because...
I AM GRATEFUL...
He knows I am.
He knows it.
Defences down, I close my eyes.
"Yes. You're enough."
Haven't You, Father, been the subject of every love song sung at my piano this week? Has not my heart been begging for the Gentleness of my Shepherd to lead?
And it's like He speaks to me...
"I see you."
Seen. Seen in the darkness after the baby has been tucked in. Seen in the king sized bed that refuses to warm up all the way. Seen drawing and singing... and cleaning and cooking. Not invisible. Seen.
"I hear you."
Not only heard, but understood. Not judged for feelings that aren't sin, aren't wrong, aren't insignificant to me... or to Him. Heard, whispering truthful, biblical prayers. Heard playing and singing till my voice wavers, cracks and breaks. Heard.
"I'm with you."
Not alone in trying to protect the little ones in my care. I'm in His company when I whisper that I want my husband. He seems to nod somberly. He's with me.
And oh... my gratitude breaks from the easy list that I have made in my head... a roof over my head, food to eat, children to love, a husband who will, ultimately, come home, friends who care, music that feeds and humour that kindles and brings warmth like a flame...
All of it fades when my invisibility is proved false and His faithfulness is proved true. My gratitude is real.... and so is my longing. They can co-exist - and in that sweet balance, I'm allowed to feel what I feel.. and for that?
I'm grateful.
Benedict Cumberbatch is the screen saver and he smiles coyly at me - almost mockingly as I gather threads of thoughts wondering if I have anything coherent at all to say.
"I'm grateful..." my heart whispers...
And it's true.
This week has been awesome - school is still getting rolling, my college kid is loving her classes, my baby slept better, my teens are changing every day - but it's the beautiful, welcome kind of change. It's the kind of change that is evidence that there is a Holy God working in their lives, whispering truths, beckoning them to come... and they are heeding that invitation. My "almost teens" are growing too... They're trading childish things for talents and passions that they work on and derive pleasure from. They can do so many things that I could never do... it's fun to watch.
Then my bonus boys...
Oh trust me, I'm grateful. I'm plenty grateful.
Belligerently I stomp my foot, "But God," I whine, "I want him..."
My travelling man has been gone all week - swept up in the vortex of work and meetings and technology blips... I haven't heard more than a few words from him.
The loneliness can be so real...
And it almost makes me howl that I could even use the word "lonely" to describe any aspect of this full life I lead. My arms are so rarely empty and everywhere I turn there is another likable human being willing to share a conversation, a hug, a cookie or a TV show.
But there's sometimes a lonely for just the one person who has seen the very nakedness of your soul - who shares your bed, your body, your memories and your deepest loves... a person to chuckle with in the darkness before sleep comes, the person who seems to have what you lack, and lacks what you have...
Too personal... I backspace, try again, frustrated, flushed, embarrassed - keep it togehter, paige...
In the shower, my finger traces the word in the steam, "invisible".
And my heart, whispering it's gratitude defensively is shushed to silence by the Author's question, "am I enough?"
"Of course you're enough!" I sputter... "Aren't I allowed to want someone? or something? or am I supposed to live in a perpetual state of bliss - desiring nothing but the company of God?"
He's working something out in me... I feel it and the tears sting my eyes and I'm ashamed of the lump in my throat because...
I AM GRATEFUL...
He knows I am.
He knows it.
Defences down, I close my eyes.
"Yes. You're enough."
Haven't You, Father, been the subject of every love song sung at my piano this week? Has not my heart been begging for the Gentleness of my Shepherd to lead?
And it's like He speaks to me...
"I see you."
Seen. Seen in the darkness after the baby has been tucked in. Seen in the king sized bed that refuses to warm up all the way. Seen drawing and singing... and cleaning and cooking. Not invisible. Seen.
"I hear you."
Not only heard, but understood. Not judged for feelings that aren't sin, aren't wrong, aren't insignificant to me... or to Him. Heard, whispering truthful, biblical prayers. Heard playing and singing till my voice wavers, cracks and breaks. Heard.
"I'm with you."
Not alone in trying to protect the little ones in my care. I'm in His company when I whisper that I want my husband. He seems to nod somberly. He's with me.
And oh... my gratitude breaks from the easy list that I have made in my head... a roof over my head, food to eat, children to love, a husband who will, ultimately, come home, friends who care, music that feeds and humour that kindles and brings warmth like a flame...
All of it fades when my invisibility is proved false and His faithfulness is proved true. My gratitude is real.... and so is my longing. They can co-exist - and in that sweet balance, I'm allowed to feel what I feel.. and for that?
I'm grateful.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Life in Transition
First there was her grade 12 registration.
i remember her grinning over my shoulder as i exclaimed in chagrin that this was my last time registering her for school...
Then, as soon as she was able, she applied for college. They conditionally accepted her. She wrote exams at the end of her first term. She was halfway done. She studied. i encouraged... i cheered. Sometimes i annoyingly reminded, pushed, prodded... i tried to be a good mama - all fumbling like a parent in the passenger side as their child hurtles down the highway for the first time, shouting instructions and pounding that imaginary brake as their child adeptly makes lane changes, weaving capably in and out of traffic.
We planned grad together.
She showed me what colours she liked and she let me put my fingerprints throughout it too. Sometimes she says that in the kitchen, we are like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, and it`s true... we work well together - cooking for ten most nights and days. i guess our experience paid off cause her grad was amazing. Over 80 people showed up to honour her... There were thoughtful speeches, yummy desserts, a song, grandparents and a special cousin who travelled, friends who helped and cried and hugged and brought presents, a soft blue dress that fit like a glove. There was also one clear, sweet voice using the humorous guise of, "valedictorian speech" to give her testimony to a room of people she admires.
It was perfect, really.
Neil's cousin's wife took grad pictures, my friend did Cai's hair...
She looked so pretty... So poised and confident. So Cairo.
After two and a half years of working at Dairy Queen and putting her cheques diligently in the bank... After countless babysitting jobs, loving each little one in each family and giving her dad the majority of the money she made over all those hours and hours of toil to put in the bank for her, she scrawled out a budget for her college education. She had more than enough.
"But i get to buy you new boots..." i added unnecessarily.
She doesn't really need me...
Her diploma grades arrived, and i rudely ripped open the envelope while she was at work. i really did. i'm ashamed to admit it, but it's the truth... i justified it by saying i wouldn't want to rush to her work with the envelope if it were bad news, but the news was good. Really good. So i grabbed her sister and my keys and with an idiotic grin on my face, i rushed in and shoved the envelope in her face.
She forgave me.
Her acceptance letter followed, and her diploma followed that.
Summer was in full swing.
She bought herself a new computer.
i tried to find her the kind of backpack she wanted.
She got her course schedule, and spent some time trying to figure out how the public transit was going to work for her 8am classes.
And this week, she works her final shifts at Dairy Queen. Her little apron is worn now... The sticky ice cream spray has been washed off of it a million times... those strings are weary from being wrapped around her tiny waist shift after shift as those blue eyes met the next customer, "What can i get you?"
Another childhood, please. A little girl with platinum cotton candy hair and electric blue eyes. Chicklet teeth that were worn almost in half from chewing on her dollies fingers by the time they came loose. i'll take one of those... please.
i wasn't ready to become a mama when she came.
i couldn't fathom what it was to first make room in your body and then to be the one who woke in the night, cleaned up the vomit, wiped away tears, prayed agonized prayers over feverish bodies, teen angst and exhaustion... i couldn't imagine the next 18 years when i was only 19 when i found out she was coming. i couldn't dream of weighing it all in my head, constantly second guessing myself, 'Is she healthy? Are her eyes ok? Will she be safe on those roads? Should i have put her in more lessons? What gaps did i leave in her education? Is she wrestling out her character flaws? Does she know they're there? Does she love me? Did too much of my own baggage wash over and soil her sweet, tender heart? Does she know i did my best?'
And my "word" for this year... or phrase, i guess, has been learning to "surrender - changing my heart of stone for a heart of flesh".. i have been learning to strive less and surrender more - and how many beautiful opportunities has my Saviour given me during this transitional season to learn that tender lesson? He's such a gentle shepherd... he knows the striving is futile... and breaking me of this futile habit, while painful, will be for my own good...
First there was her grade 12 registration. The beginning of the ending.
But, by tender mercies out of my hands, she's still here for awhile. She'll live at home while she takes her classes at a community college. We'll still traipse and dance around that kitchen as adeptly as we ever have. The donuts will still be made on the first day of snow and the little brothers will still get more time to make some memories as she continues to transition and strengthens her wings to fly...
i remember her grinning over my shoulder as i exclaimed in chagrin that this was my last time registering her for school...
Then, as soon as she was able, she applied for college. They conditionally accepted her. She wrote exams at the end of her first term. She was halfway done. She studied. i encouraged... i cheered. Sometimes i annoyingly reminded, pushed, prodded... i tried to be a good mama - all fumbling like a parent in the passenger side as their child hurtles down the highway for the first time, shouting instructions and pounding that imaginary brake as their child adeptly makes lane changes, weaving capably in and out of traffic.
We planned grad together.
She showed me what colours she liked and she let me put my fingerprints throughout it too. Sometimes she says that in the kitchen, we are like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, and it`s true... we work well together - cooking for ten most nights and days. i guess our experience paid off cause her grad was amazing. Over 80 people showed up to honour her... There were thoughtful speeches, yummy desserts, a song, grandparents and a special cousin who travelled, friends who helped and cried and hugged and brought presents, a soft blue dress that fit like a glove. There was also one clear, sweet voice using the humorous guise of, "valedictorian speech" to give her testimony to a room of people she admires.
It was perfect, really.
Neil's cousin's wife took grad pictures, my friend did Cai's hair...
She looked so pretty... So poised and confident. So Cairo.
After two and a half years of working at Dairy Queen and putting her cheques diligently in the bank... After countless babysitting jobs, loving each little one in each family and giving her dad the majority of the money she made over all those hours and hours of toil to put in the bank for her, she scrawled out a budget for her college education. She had more than enough.
"But i get to buy you new boots..." i added unnecessarily.
She doesn't really need me...
Her diploma grades arrived, and i rudely ripped open the envelope while she was at work. i really did. i'm ashamed to admit it, but it's the truth... i justified it by saying i wouldn't want to rush to her work with the envelope if it were bad news, but the news was good. Really good. So i grabbed her sister and my keys and with an idiotic grin on my face, i rushed in and shoved the envelope in her face.
She forgave me.
Her acceptance letter followed, and her diploma followed that.
Summer was in full swing.
She bought herself a new computer.
i tried to find her the kind of backpack she wanted.
She got her course schedule, and spent some time trying to figure out how the public transit was going to work for her 8am classes.
And this week, she works her final shifts at Dairy Queen. Her little apron is worn now... The sticky ice cream spray has been washed off of it a million times... those strings are weary from being wrapped around her tiny waist shift after shift as those blue eyes met the next customer, "What can i get you?"
Another childhood, please. A little girl with platinum cotton candy hair and electric blue eyes. Chicklet teeth that were worn almost in half from chewing on her dollies fingers by the time they came loose. i'll take one of those... please.
i wasn't ready to become a mama when she came.
i couldn't fathom what it was to first make room in your body and then to be the one who woke in the night, cleaned up the vomit, wiped away tears, prayed agonized prayers over feverish bodies, teen angst and exhaustion... i couldn't imagine the next 18 years when i was only 19 when i found out she was coming. i couldn't dream of weighing it all in my head, constantly second guessing myself, 'Is she healthy? Are her eyes ok? Will she be safe on those roads? Should i have put her in more lessons? What gaps did i leave in her education? Is she wrestling out her character flaws? Does she know they're there? Does she love me? Did too much of my own baggage wash over and soil her sweet, tender heart? Does she know i did my best?'
And my "word" for this year... or phrase, i guess, has been learning to "surrender - changing my heart of stone for a heart of flesh".. i have been learning to strive less and surrender more - and how many beautiful opportunities has my Saviour given me during this transitional season to learn that tender lesson? He's such a gentle shepherd... he knows the striving is futile... and breaking me of this futile habit, while painful, will be for my own good...
First there was her grade 12 registration. The beginning of the ending.
But, by tender mercies out of my hands, she's still here for awhile. She'll live at home while she takes her classes at a community college. We'll still traipse and dance around that kitchen as adeptly as we ever have. The donuts will still be made on the first day of snow and the little brothers will still get more time to make some memories as she continues to transition and strengthens her wings to fly...
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
motherhood - it's not what you think
It's almost mother's day.
I've been sitting here thinking of some of the moms that I know - or even the ones that I don't know. Moms who aren't in the thick of the curly toddler locks, the teething babies, the laboriously printed block letters...
No...
Motherhood goes beyond all the things that are physically hard and sweet and poignant. All the things that the internet highlights as motherhood? They're our very best side.
The side that we hardly dare to speak of - let alone post it on the internet... that's the side that has been on my mind. The gut churning days where adolescent lives are wept over. The adult child who is full of seething hatred. The families struggling with mental illness and begging social services for a hand.
Oh, and I love me some baby love.
Who has loved motherhood like I have? Blogging the precious night wakings and the nursling, juggling the sweet elementary homeschoolers with gap toothed grins and scraped up knees... oh, I love it, I love it, I love it...
But mercy...
There are mothers who are spending their lives humbling themselves yet again in the face of extraordinary circumstances beyond anything that a sane human being would willingly sign up for. Loving beyond broken relationships, physical ability, beyond the gates of heaven that welcomed children before the parents who never stop longing for them.
I was thinking that maybe we should just scrap this whole divisive mother's day thing... So many women pained by infertility, singleness - and a callous culture that undervalues women in almost any life circumstance and pits us against each other in the most unfathomable ways.
But then I couldn't help but think of the women who are mothering through the darkest of days. The ones who reject any honour that might try to land on them on mother's day. The ones who grimace through the airy compliments from others who know nothing of their struggle - because the story isn't theirs to tell, it belongs to their suffering children - and amazing mother that she is... she'd cut off her own arm before she'd spill the howling pain she's in as she goes about her days praying for respite.
So this mother's day, I want to honour *that* mother.
The mother walking in the dark.
The mother trying to find an empty room so she can scream into a pillow.
The mother who looks like she has it all.
The mother who is being faithful.
The mother who is a lifeline to the human souls entrusted to her.
The mother who personifies hope.
The mother who needs some herself...
Happy mother's day.
Keep on, precious woman... one foot in front of the other...
You are doing Kingdom work - and it is not in vain.
12 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 13 Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (phil 3)
I've been sitting here thinking of some of the moms that I know - or even the ones that I don't know. Moms who aren't in the thick of the curly toddler locks, the teething babies, the laboriously printed block letters...
No...
Motherhood goes beyond all the things that are physically hard and sweet and poignant. All the things that the internet highlights as motherhood? They're our very best side.
The side that we hardly dare to speak of - let alone post it on the internet... that's the side that has been on my mind. The gut churning days where adolescent lives are wept over. The adult child who is full of seething hatred. The families struggling with mental illness and begging social services for a hand.
Oh, and I love me some baby love.
Who has loved motherhood like I have? Blogging the precious night wakings and the nursling, juggling the sweet elementary homeschoolers with gap toothed grins and scraped up knees... oh, I love it, I love it, I love it...
But mercy...
There are mothers who are spending their lives humbling themselves yet again in the face of extraordinary circumstances beyond anything that a sane human being would willingly sign up for. Loving beyond broken relationships, physical ability, beyond the gates of heaven that welcomed children before the parents who never stop longing for them.
I was thinking that maybe we should just scrap this whole divisive mother's day thing... So many women pained by infertility, singleness - and a callous culture that undervalues women in almost any life circumstance and pits us against each other in the most unfathomable ways.
But then I couldn't help but think of the women who are mothering through the darkest of days. The ones who reject any honour that might try to land on them on mother's day. The ones who grimace through the airy compliments from others who know nothing of their struggle - because the story isn't theirs to tell, it belongs to their suffering children - and amazing mother that she is... she'd cut off her own arm before she'd spill the howling pain she's in as she goes about her days praying for respite.
So this mother's day, I want to honour *that* mother.
The mother walking in the dark.
The mother trying to find an empty room so she can scream into a pillow.
The mother who looks like she has it all.
The mother who is being faithful.
The mother who is a lifeline to the human souls entrusted to her.
The mother who personifies hope.
The mother who needs some herself...
Happy mother's day.
Keep on, precious woman... one foot in front of the other...
You are doing Kingdom work - and it is not in vain.
12 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 13 Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (phil 3)
Thursday, April 10, 2014
reflexes
I still remember the first time I prayed for reflexes.
Maybe I was praying for discernment, maybe spontaneity, maybe Christ-likeness...
But the word that came out spoken in the darkness was reflexes.
I was in my early twenties. I had been out with friends during a season of life when my home life was so consuming and physically exhausting that I hated going out. Every once in a blue moon, Neil would gently nudge & my conscience would remind me that I should make an effort to make friends and I would grudgingly leave the house and my babies and go out with a bunch of girls.
That's how it was - I wasn't very friendly or gracious or lovely or loving...
But I went - and I found that I was no good at conversation. Small talk grated, and big issues ignited a passion that made others uncomfortable.
I wasn't fun.
So I would sit red faced, trying to jump in to conversations that either didn't interest me - or interested me too much...
And my reflexes were poor.
Sometimes I would say too much and my words sounded like they were harsh and lacking love. Sometimes I would say nothing when the situation begged for a few words of mercy - or truth. How many conversations was I a part of when truth rang clear and unspoken in my mind... because it was awkward or heavy or altogether impossible to lovingly put forth?*
Every time, ('every time' is generous - these outings were so sparsely sprinkled over those years that they probably only happened a handful of times) I would go home to a silent house... I would tip toe to my room and my bed would be full with my huge husband and any number of bedraggled blond heads attached to soft little bodies. I would transport each little friend to their bed before climbing in beside Neil... and in the dark as condemnation loomed, reminding me of my failure to 'wear Christ' (Romans 13:14) I would beg God for better reflexes.
Reflexes... like when sin is exposed between friends and love is the first emotion witnessed rather than revulsion.
Reflexes... like when you wrap arms around open wounds - recklessly refusing to 'think through' anything - ministering as the Holy Spirit prompts.
Reflexes... like when you don't have to think WWJD because your reflex - your first instinctive reaction - shows the world that you're related to Him.
Like Father, like daughter became my prayer.
These are the types of reflexes that are formed when we, "put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness." (ephesians 4:22-24)
Reflexes! Gimme reflexes!
I want to be like You, Father...
And as I learned to listen, my reflexes have improved. He has whispered truth to me in my dreams, as I've read His word, as I've met with Him in worship and prayer again and again as the years passed by- and He has proved Himself a faithful teacher.
And He saves me... He calls me to a holy life. Not because of anything I've done, but because of His own purpose and grace. (2 Timothy 1:9) He calls me His girl. He lavishes me with love. (1 John 3:1)
And it makes me smile that in response, my reflex is to feel gratitude.
*********************
*disclaimer - I still struggle with this in conversations... :) Still wrestling to find my way and what God wants from me...
Maybe I was praying for discernment, maybe spontaneity, maybe Christ-likeness...
But the word that came out spoken in the darkness was reflexes.
I was in my early twenties. I had been out with friends during a season of life when my home life was so consuming and physically exhausting that I hated going out. Every once in a blue moon, Neil would gently nudge & my conscience would remind me that I should make an effort to make friends and I would grudgingly leave the house and my babies and go out with a bunch of girls.
That's how it was - I wasn't very friendly or gracious or lovely or loving...
But I went - and I found that I was no good at conversation. Small talk grated, and big issues ignited a passion that made others uncomfortable.
I wasn't fun.
So I would sit red faced, trying to jump in to conversations that either didn't interest me - or interested me too much...
And my reflexes were poor.
Sometimes I would say too much and my words sounded like they were harsh and lacking love. Sometimes I would say nothing when the situation begged for a few words of mercy - or truth. How many conversations was I a part of when truth rang clear and unspoken in my mind... because it was awkward or heavy or altogether impossible to lovingly put forth?*
Every time, ('every time' is generous - these outings were so sparsely sprinkled over those years that they probably only happened a handful of times) I would go home to a silent house... I would tip toe to my room and my bed would be full with my huge husband and any number of bedraggled blond heads attached to soft little bodies. I would transport each little friend to their bed before climbing in beside Neil... and in the dark as condemnation loomed, reminding me of my failure to 'wear Christ' (Romans 13:14) I would beg God for better reflexes.
Reflexes... like when sin is exposed between friends and love is the first emotion witnessed rather than revulsion.
Reflexes... like when you wrap arms around open wounds - recklessly refusing to 'think through' anything - ministering as the Holy Spirit prompts.
Reflexes... like when you don't have to think WWJD because your reflex - your first instinctive reaction - shows the world that you're related to Him.
Like Father, like daughter became my prayer.
These are the types of reflexes that are formed when we, "put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness." (ephesians 4:22-24)
Reflexes! Gimme reflexes!
I want to be like You, Father...
And as I learned to listen, my reflexes have improved. He has whispered truth to me in my dreams, as I've read His word, as I've met with Him in worship and prayer again and again as the years passed by- and He has proved Himself a faithful teacher.
And He saves me... He calls me to a holy life. Not because of anything I've done, but because of His own purpose and grace. (2 Timothy 1:9) He calls me His girl. He lavishes me with love. (1 John 3:1)
And it makes me smile that in response, my reflex is to feel gratitude.
*********************
*disclaimer - I still struggle with this in conversations... :) Still wrestling to find my way and what God wants from me...
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
River Baby
At the end of my pregnancy with Elmer, when I would pray for him - for God's glory to be revealed through the life of my little son, for protection, for anointing, for Abba's hand to claim my little one as His...
I had a picture in my head for Elmer.
I still remember - being painfully swollen, but dropping to my knees - acknowledging the sovereignty of God in every area of my life- including as mother of Elmer, precious life in my womb. So much had been stripped away. My body was tender in those very last weeks. My joints were loose, preparing early for birth, my husband travelled more than usual, I relied heavily (without shame) on the kindnesses of friends - who carried me daily in prayer and in practical ways by feeding us, helping us and loving us.
So often when we're stripped bare, it's our best opportunity for communion with our Father... and I took that opportunity - with every dip of my eyelids, I found Him there - and I could agree with the Holy Spirit that the tiny son in my womb was created by God - knit together, fearfully and wonderfully made. All of his days ordained for the purposes of a Holy God, before one of them even came to be. Even though his form was hidden from me, he wasn't hidden from God. He wasn't created by the will of an earthly father - no... there was a bigger purpose even than that...
And then, I had that picture in my head.
The picture was a river.
The story of Moses' mother sending her son - surrendering him - down the river - would wreck me. And it was all I could do to imagine my fingers pried one by one off my precious one, understanding that His ways are better than mine.
***
There was another little life, 18 years ago growing in my womb. I was 19 and scared. My love for her was a gift from God and I would have fought to the death for her fragile life... I still would.
Last night, a pastor picked her out of a crowded room and spoke words of truth and blessing over her life. He asked those around her to lay their hands on her and he prayed for her life - for her influence... He spoke Matthew 5:14-16* over her, my precious girl - a light in this world... He spoke of her entering a new era of leadership as she becomes an adult in this next year -
and there's that river again...
And maybe most mothers understand that picture that I have in my head of a river. Maybe all of us choose to surrender our own will to God's in a mighty way when He sends these little ones to reside in our bodies, and we raise them to live their lives as living sacrifices (all of Romans 12) - holy and pleasing to God...
Sometimes I feel like my heart will burst with the magnitude of this holy work that He has given me in being wife to Neil and mama to these children...
And I send my own self down the river too - surrendering my all to Him.
*“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."
I had a picture in my head for Elmer.
I still remember - being painfully swollen, but dropping to my knees - acknowledging the sovereignty of God in every area of my life- including as mother of Elmer, precious life in my womb. So much had been stripped away. My body was tender in those very last weeks. My joints were loose, preparing early for birth, my husband travelled more than usual, I relied heavily (without shame) on the kindnesses of friends - who carried me daily in prayer and in practical ways by feeding us, helping us and loving us.
So often when we're stripped bare, it's our best opportunity for communion with our Father... and I took that opportunity - with every dip of my eyelids, I found Him there - and I could agree with the Holy Spirit that the tiny son in my womb was created by God - knit together, fearfully and wonderfully made. All of his days ordained for the purposes of a Holy God, before one of them even came to be. Even though his form was hidden from me, he wasn't hidden from God. He wasn't created by the will of an earthly father - no... there was a bigger purpose even than that...
And then, I had that picture in my head.
The picture was a river.
The story of Moses' mother sending her son - surrendering him - down the river - would wreck me. And it was all I could do to imagine my fingers pried one by one off my precious one, understanding that His ways are better than mine.
***
There was another little life, 18 years ago growing in my womb. I was 19 and scared. My love for her was a gift from God and I would have fought to the death for her fragile life... I still would.
Last night, a pastor picked her out of a crowded room and spoke words of truth and blessing over her life. He asked those around her to lay their hands on her and he prayed for her life - for her influence... He spoke Matthew 5:14-16* over her, my precious girl - a light in this world... He spoke of her entering a new era of leadership as she becomes an adult in this next year -
and there's that river again...
And maybe most mothers understand that picture that I have in my head of a river. Maybe all of us choose to surrender our own will to God's in a mighty way when He sends these little ones to reside in our bodies, and we raise them to live their lives as living sacrifices (all of Romans 12) - holy and pleasing to God...
Sometimes I feel like my heart will burst with the magnitude of this holy work that He has given me in being wife to Neil and mama to these children...
And I send my own self down the river too - surrendering my all to Him.
*“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."
Saturday, February 22, 2014
5 minute Friday - Small
Sloan is participating in 5 minute Fridays, hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker, so I decided to join her today. 5 minutes is just a teeny tiny snippet of time. Today's (yesterday's) word was *small*.
Go
I’ve always been of small stature. I’m 5’2” & my husband stands a full foot taller than me. I have small feet, small hands, small bones… and
sometimes I feel like I could just shrink into the back ground and avoid being
seen altogether.
I had a dream the other night.
I was walking through a stone city – it was big – but also
felt maybe a little desolate. I was walking beside an angel. The angel was huge
– way bigger than me – head and shoulders taller than my husband Neil who
towers over me. I took my eyes off the angel to look around, and my whole
perspective changed when I noticed there were more angels. Some were as tall as my house – some as huge as a sky scraper – some were even bigger than a mountain. They were wandering around
the stone city. I gazed at them in amazement and then turned to my companion
and remarked, “You’re small for an angel… why?”
The angel looked at me and said, “I'm supposed to be this size so that I can see
you.”
And it made sense to have an angel on eye level, rather than
one who would see me as from a great distance like a person watching an ant
hill… there was more to be seen, more to be understood – when one can truly be
seen.
And it reminds me of a song which often becomes my breath of
a prayer when I meet with my Father and bring all manner of life and heart and
longing to Him.
“Oh Great God, be small enough to hear me now….”
And He hears.
Stop
Stop
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
unbloggable
i read a blogpost that someone had posted to facebook about it being harder (impossible) to blog the teen years as intensely as you can blog the baby/toddler years. That comforts me a bit as these last couple of years have seen a lot more quiet in this place that has brought me so much joy over my journey through motherhood.
It's true that circumstances are sometimes completely unbloggable... sometimes unsharable or unspeakable. That's when you just exhale - surrender - and trust that He is shaping you in the midst of the desert time.
That said, every so often, I realize that I do want to raise my hand in the crowded room and offer a small piece to record here - as my children seem to grow before my eyes and time mercilessly marches ever forward... So here's a small breath of praise to the One who continues to draw me "further up and further in!"*
At the beginning of this year, I kept seeing people post their "word for the year" - and I searched my mind and heart for a word that might fit for me to meditate on and grow from, but instead of a word, there were two phrases that have kept coming back to me these first two months into 2014.
The first is that I am learning to see the value, less in 'trying harder' and more in surrendering.
It has been spoken aloud in a million different ways - almost on a daily basis as I've been listening for His still small voice in conversations with other believers, in my bible reading, in my quiet time with Him. Surrender is a whole different ache than "trying hard". And I've loved the picture that He has given me - that surrender makes it His - and He will faithfully take, and make beautiful, what no amount of my own effort ever could...
i guess an example of this type of surrender would be in the area of self control. i know sometimes my little ones will have a burst of fury and as i try to talk them down, "Chill out, relax...", i get the standard indignant response, "I'm TRYING!!"
What a funny little twist in our own thinking to think of surrendering our fury, our sadness, our broken relationships, our lack of self control - instead of constantly "trying harder..." I've had to laugh at myself too as I'm the queen of over thinking - and sometimes i find myself, "trying harder to surrender..." That's when I've missed the point - and i need to take a step back and take my mind out of the situation completely...
The second is more of an image - another trading of one thing for something better - but it's the daily decision to (by the miracle of grace) trade my heart of stone for a heart of flesh. **
What a scary decision that can seem to be when flesh seems so vulnerably unprotected; we experience flesh's suffering rather than a stone's coldness, tenderness rather than hardness, painful growth rather than deadness... It's His precious gift to me - to strip away my stony humanness - and give me a gift of a heart that beats for Him.
And I think that these two ideas are connected for me. I've run up against so many situations that are out of my control - He's allowing me to see, that I can try and try and try... until I'm exhausted and spent - but if I could just surrender - it might be painful, but through surrender, He'll take me places i could never get to on my own. A heart of flesh that is living and beating can do things that a dead heart could never do. A heart of stone can't soften itself, it can't warm itself, it can't make itself come alive...
But through surrender, the stone can be made flesh - all things are possible.
* a little Narnia love... ;)
** check out Spurgeon's sermon The Stony Heart Removed.
It's true that circumstances are sometimes completely unbloggable... sometimes unsharable or unspeakable. That's when you just exhale - surrender - and trust that He is shaping you in the midst of the desert time.
That said, every so often, I realize that I do want to raise my hand in the crowded room and offer a small piece to record here - as my children seem to grow before my eyes and time mercilessly marches ever forward... So here's a small breath of praise to the One who continues to draw me "further up and further in!"*
At the beginning of this year, I kept seeing people post their "word for the year" - and I searched my mind and heart for a word that might fit for me to meditate on and grow from, but instead of a word, there were two phrases that have kept coming back to me these first two months into 2014.
The first is that I am learning to see the value, less in 'trying harder' and more in surrendering.
It has been spoken aloud in a million different ways - almost on a daily basis as I've been listening for His still small voice in conversations with other believers, in my bible reading, in my quiet time with Him. Surrender is a whole different ache than "trying hard". And I've loved the picture that He has given me - that surrender makes it His - and He will faithfully take, and make beautiful, what no amount of my own effort ever could...
i guess an example of this type of surrender would be in the area of self control. i know sometimes my little ones will have a burst of fury and as i try to talk them down, "Chill out, relax...", i get the standard indignant response, "I'm TRYING!!"
What a funny little twist in our own thinking to think of surrendering our fury, our sadness, our broken relationships, our lack of self control - instead of constantly "trying harder..." I've had to laugh at myself too as I'm the queen of over thinking - and sometimes i find myself, "trying harder to surrender..." That's when I've missed the point - and i need to take a step back and take my mind out of the situation completely...
The second is more of an image - another trading of one thing for something better - but it's the daily decision to (by the miracle of grace) trade my heart of stone for a heart of flesh. **
What a scary decision that can seem to be when flesh seems so vulnerably unprotected; we experience flesh's suffering rather than a stone's coldness, tenderness rather than hardness, painful growth rather than deadness... It's His precious gift to me - to strip away my stony humanness - and give me a gift of a heart that beats for Him.
And I think that these two ideas are connected for me. I've run up against so many situations that are out of my control - He's allowing me to see, that I can try and try and try... until I'm exhausted and spent - but if I could just surrender - it might be painful, but through surrender, He'll take me places i could never get to on my own. A heart of flesh that is living and beating can do things that a dead heart could never do. A heart of stone can't soften itself, it can't warm itself, it can't make itself come alive...
But through surrender, the stone can be made flesh - all things are possible.
* a little Narnia love... ;)
** check out Spurgeon's sermon The Stony Heart Removed.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
prayer
i've blogged about prayer before - HERE, or HERE.
But i think it's a part of my growth that will never have an "arrival" point.
Prayer is kind of like a language - in that it is a form of communication that requires me to learn it, practice it and use it.
Since prayer is a language between me and God... my desire to learn is strong.
We've been trying something new in our morning devotion time. We've been taking pieces of scripture and praying them. We can take our current situations too - and pray that piece of scripture over them... but I want my littles to learn - like I am learning - that there is power when we bring God's words back to Him.
The other day, I read from Titus during our morning devotions. (Lately, we have been reading Sarah Young's Jesus Calling - which includes scripture references at the end of every snippet that we can use. But for the month of January, we took a break from that as I was reading the New Testament in one month, so in the mornings, I would just read the kids a chapter or two from wherever I was at in my reading.)
The piece of scripture I read included this:
6 In the same way, encourage the young men to live wisely. 7 And you yourself must be an example to them by doing good works of every kind. Let everything you do reflect the integrity and seriousness of your teaching. 8 Teach the truth so that your teaching can’t be criticized. Then those who oppose us will be ashamed and have nothing bad to say about us.
So we took those verses and prayed them over our lives:
"Oh Father, help me to live wisely, and to do good."
"Let my life reflect the integrity of the Christian walk."
"Help me to be an example."
And on and on - around our little circle - stumbling and reading and praying the words that struck our hearts; awkwardly breaking free from our memorized speeches and safe prayers.
It was harder to pull our minds out of the familiar grooves that our prayers had often taken... but at the same time, it was also harder to sermonize to siblings. It was easier to pray wisely. Part of it too, is just agreeing with God...
"Hey, God? I see here that it says you want me to live in a way that honours you. I agree with that. I want it too..."
And yes... we can pray these things without scripture - and we often do, don't we? But what a beautiful thing to let the word of God be our guide in our communication with Him. More listening... less ranting. More answers... less rabbit trails. More humility... less pointing fingers and tattling.
I can imagine every situation, brought to God through praying scripture.
My heart for the unborn can be brought to God praying Psalm 139...
My desire for restoring relationships can be brought to God praying Ephesians 4.
My longing for awakening or revival can be prayed through Acts 2...
And I know that my Father hears, sees and acts on my behalf...
because He has proven Himself faithful.
Psalm 91:3-6
3 Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence. 4 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. 5 You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, 6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.
Thank you, Father, for being faithful.
But i think it's a part of my growth that will never have an "arrival" point.
Prayer is kind of like a language - in that it is a form of communication that requires me to learn it, practice it and use it.
Since prayer is a language between me and God... my desire to learn is strong.
We've been trying something new in our morning devotion time. We've been taking pieces of scripture and praying them. We can take our current situations too - and pray that piece of scripture over them... but I want my littles to learn - like I am learning - that there is power when we bring God's words back to Him.
The other day, I read from Titus during our morning devotions. (Lately, we have been reading Sarah Young's Jesus Calling - which includes scripture references at the end of every snippet that we can use. But for the month of January, we took a break from that as I was reading the New Testament in one month, so in the mornings, I would just read the kids a chapter or two from wherever I was at in my reading.)
The piece of scripture I read included this:
2 As for you, Titus, promote the kind of living that reflects wholesome teaching. 2 Teach the older men to exercise self-control, to be worthy of respect, and to live wisely. They must have sound faith and be filled with love and patience.
3 Similarly, teach the older women to live in a way that honors God. They must not slander others or be heavy drinkers.[a] Instead, they should teach others what is good. 4 These older women must train the younger women to love their husbands and their children, 5 to live wisely and be pure, to work in their homes,[b] to do good, and to be submissive to their husbands. Then they will not bring shame on the word of God.6 In the same way, encourage the young men to live wisely. 7 And you yourself must be an example to them by doing good works of every kind. Let everything you do reflect the integrity and seriousness of your teaching. 8 Teach the truth so that your teaching can’t be criticized. Then those who oppose us will be ashamed and have nothing bad to say about us.
So we took those verses and prayed them over our lives:
"Oh Father, help me to live wisely, and to do good."
"Let my life reflect the integrity of the Christian walk."
"Help me to be an example."
And on and on - around our little circle - stumbling and reading and praying the words that struck our hearts; awkwardly breaking free from our memorized speeches and safe prayers.
It was harder to pull our minds out of the familiar grooves that our prayers had often taken... but at the same time, it was also harder to sermonize to siblings. It was easier to pray wisely. Part of it too, is just agreeing with God...
"Hey, God? I see here that it says you want me to live in a way that honours you. I agree with that. I want it too..."
And yes... we can pray these things without scripture - and we often do, don't we? But what a beautiful thing to let the word of God be our guide in our communication with Him. More listening... less ranting. More answers... less rabbit trails. More humility... less pointing fingers and tattling.
I can imagine every situation, brought to God through praying scripture.
My heart for the unborn can be brought to God praying Psalm 139...
My desire for restoring relationships can be brought to God praying Ephesians 4.
My longing for awakening or revival can be prayed through Acts 2...
And I know that my Father hears, sees and acts on my behalf...
because He has proven Himself faithful.
Psalm 91:3-6
3 Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence. 4 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. 5 You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, 6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.
Thank you, Father, for being faithful.
Friday, January 24, 2014
i won't regret this
i'm sure i've written this post before. Somewhere in the archives of this blog, similar words will have been tapped into my computer and saved as they poured warm and fresh from my fingers...
And so, i hesitated to write this post yet again...
But i did... and it sat a couple of weeks marinating... like most posts do these days.
It's 3am.
Elmer, at six and a half months, still rises frequently in the night - maybe a little remnant of his early nursing problems that he still needs to eat often... and it takes him quite a long time to finish. He was up at midnight, and i know i'll be up again before the other children rise from their beds. His weight is familiar in my arms - his sombre eyes meeting mine... softening into a smile as we connect in the semi-darkness.
"You won't regret this..." my voice rumbles audibly in the quietness of the very early morning as i hold him tenderly - and, as has become my habit, i kiss his forehead gently three times as he begins to nurse.
i won't regret treating this tiny son kindly - i won't regret waking to his call and tending to his needs. i won't regret smiling with bleary eyes half opened and shushing and patting that sweet raised bum as he drifts off again. i won't regret the days and nights i was a patient mama and i let myself soak in his babyhood.
There are plenty of things i regret about motherhood. i was so young and entitled as a young bride and mother... and it's a habit that is hard ended. i want to sleep, i want my house tidy, i want to eat my own food off my own plate...
But over these sweet decades, rising in the night... i've been forced to hand over sleep, my house and my food... so to learn to give it, freely, unbegrudgingly - even happily - for Elmer's sake - seems like some kind of miracle. Each one of these eight kids taught me to surrender - just a little bit more.
Elmer. Is it strange that when i say his name, my mind is drawn to my almighty God, El Shaddai... The One who saw fit to weave his little form together, The One who saw fit to sustain his little life when i was sure i was having another miscarriage... El Shaddai, the all sufficient God, is The One who continues to give and to take and whose plan for my tiny son was formed before Elmer's little life even began.
i was sitting in a pew in a church holding Elmer in my arms. Music swelled around me as i grappled with God over another child -the small woman - who earlier in the day, refused to let me hold her. Tears spilled over cheeks as i surrendered it all to my Father. My mind reached for scripture to pray over her in these tempestuous years and inwardly i sighed, "But what does God know of motherhood anyway?"
Immediately the scripture sprang to mind, "how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing."
He knew.
He knew exactly how i felt - and how i longed for her to find solace in the safety of my arms. And He knows... my Shepherd - my all sufficient El Shaddai... the heart of a mother- the sleepless nights, the tending of needs, the comforting, cradling hold...
And - oh, could there be a more delicious relief than the knowledge i carry; that i can surrender each one of my little ones to be sheltered under His wings as i myself find my refuge there as well.
And i shush and i pat... i nurse and i grow and stretch to meet another little set of needs.
i'm seen by God - as He croons to me in the night.
And i won't regret this.
And so, i hesitated to write this post yet again...
But i did... and it sat a couple of weeks marinating... like most posts do these days.
It's 3am.
Elmer, at six and a half months, still rises frequently in the night - maybe a little remnant of his early nursing problems that he still needs to eat often... and it takes him quite a long time to finish. He was up at midnight, and i know i'll be up again before the other children rise from their beds. His weight is familiar in my arms - his sombre eyes meeting mine... softening into a smile as we connect in the semi-darkness.
"You won't regret this..." my voice rumbles audibly in the quietness of the very early morning as i hold him tenderly - and, as has become my habit, i kiss his forehead gently three times as he begins to nurse.
i won't regret treating this tiny son kindly - i won't regret waking to his call and tending to his needs. i won't regret smiling with bleary eyes half opened and shushing and patting that sweet raised bum as he drifts off again. i won't regret the days and nights i was a patient mama and i let myself soak in his babyhood.
There are plenty of things i regret about motherhood. i was so young and entitled as a young bride and mother... and it's a habit that is hard ended. i want to sleep, i want my house tidy, i want to eat my own food off my own plate...
But over these sweet decades, rising in the night... i've been forced to hand over sleep, my house and my food... so to learn to give it, freely, unbegrudgingly - even happily - for Elmer's sake - seems like some kind of miracle. Each one of these eight kids taught me to surrender - just a little bit more.
Elmer. Is it strange that when i say his name, my mind is drawn to my almighty God, El Shaddai... The One who saw fit to weave his little form together, The One who saw fit to sustain his little life when i was sure i was having another miscarriage... El Shaddai, the all sufficient God, is The One who continues to give and to take and whose plan for my tiny son was formed before Elmer's little life even began.
i was sitting in a pew in a church holding Elmer in my arms. Music swelled around me as i grappled with God over another child -the small woman - who earlier in the day, refused to let me hold her. Tears spilled over cheeks as i surrendered it all to my Father. My mind reached for scripture to pray over her in these tempestuous years and inwardly i sighed, "But what does God know of motherhood anyway?"
Immediately the scripture sprang to mind, "how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing."
He knew.
He knew exactly how i felt - and how i longed for her to find solace in the safety of my arms. And He knows... my Shepherd - my all sufficient El Shaddai... the heart of a mother- the sleepless nights, the tending of needs, the comforting, cradling hold...
And - oh, could there be a more delicious relief than the knowledge i carry; that i can surrender each one of my little ones to be sheltered under His wings as i myself find my refuge there as well.
And i shush and i pat... i nurse and i grow and stretch to meet another little set of needs.
i'm seen by God - as He croons to me in the night.
And i won't regret this.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Teenagers part 3
This is the next (final?) installment on this little series on parenting teens. If there is a desire for discussion, please feel free to leave comments in the comments section and i'll do my best to facilitate it!
One the most humbling, difficult thing I've done for my teens is to prayerfully find mentors for each one. Each of the three mentors is in a different decade of her life - each has different strengths and opinions and life experiences... each was open to welcoming one of my girls into their lives and hearts in the midst of their neediness.
I've found that sometimes teens want or need to expand their circle of trust. I want them to be able to find safe places to grow. Sometimes teens will be tempted to unload to another vulnerable (young) friend - rather than in a safe, stable place. I want to be intentional about facilitating relationships with adults who they can relate to - who will consistently point them back to Jesus... and hopefully to us (her parents) too.
I've spoken to these women about my girls too - I want them to understand that they're not stepping on my toes. I want them to know that I see my own brokenness and I want my kids to have support and love and good, godly women in their lives. I want them to know that I'm grateful for their input.
My prayer is that these mentors would give similar advice to me - & also that they would say things like, "hey... maybe you should talk to your mom or ask your dad___" I know that when I've been so blessed to have the opportunity to build into other younger women's lives, that's the kind of advice I've tried to give - as well as turning consistently and persistently to my Father's word.
I've asked one of my best friends, Fawne, to guest post this blog because she has a passion for women and relationship - and also has been a beautiful shining example of discipleship in our church and every circle that she has ever been a part of.
I hope you love her thoughts as much as I do!!
********************************************
The first mentor I remember in my life was a beautiful young woman (our pastor's wife) and I adored her. I was twelve when she came into my life and at the time I had never even heard the word mentor or discipleship and throughout the years she spoke truth into my life I didn't even realize I was being mentored. It wasn't until I was twenty-one and went away to a Bible college whose very core and foundation was discipleship relationships that I began to understand the importance and absolute need not only for being mentored but for mentoring as well. In fact, I learned that God's word does not suggest that we do this but actually commands it. Jesus' final words on earth were . . . "Go, and make disciples" (Matthew 28:19).
As a woman who is filthy, who needs constant saving, this is one of the tools that God has used mightily in my own life -- discipleship. Women who are wiser than me speaking truth, asking me questions that lead me to see my own wrong, helping me see my brokenness, and teaching me what it means to walk under the umbrella of God's ruthless love.
I dare not even begin to assume that I would be half the woman I am today without so many godly women in my life who were willing to pour time and energy and prayer and love into me. I am convinced that when Jesus commanded us to "make disciples" it's for a very good reason . . . we were not meant to go it alone. We need each other.
One the most humbling, difficult thing I've done for my teens is to prayerfully find mentors for each one. Each of the three mentors is in a different decade of her life - each has different strengths and opinions and life experiences... each was open to welcoming one of my girls into their lives and hearts in the midst of their neediness.
I've found that sometimes teens want or need to expand their circle of trust. I want them to be able to find safe places to grow. Sometimes teens will be tempted to unload to another vulnerable (young) friend - rather than in a safe, stable place. I want to be intentional about facilitating relationships with adults who they can relate to - who will consistently point them back to Jesus... and hopefully to us (her parents) too.
I've spoken to these women about my girls too - I want them to understand that they're not stepping on my toes. I want them to know that I see my own brokenness and I want my kids to have support and love and good, godly women in their lives. I want them to know that I'm grateful for their input.
My prayer is that these mentors would give similar advice to me - & also that they would say things like, "hey... maybe you should talk to your mom or ask your dad___" I know that when I've been so blessed to have the opportunity to build into other younger women's lives, that's the kind of advice I've tried to give - as well as turning consistently and persistently to my Father's word.
I've asked one of my best friends, Fawne, to guest post this blog because she has a passion for women and relationship - and also has been a beautiful shining example of discipleship in our church and every circle that she has ever been a part of.
I hope you love her thoughts as much as I do!!
********************************************
The first mentor I remember in my life was a beautiful young woman (our pastor's wife) and I adored her. I was twelve when she came into my life and at the time I had never even heard the word mentor or discipleship and throughout the years she spoke truth into my life I didn't even realize I was being mentored. It wasn't until I was twenty-one and went away to a Bible college whose very core and foundation was discipleship relationships that I began to understand the importance and absolute need not only for being mentored but for mentoring as well. In fact, I learned that God's word does not suggest that we do this but actually commands it. Jesus' final words on earth were . . . "Go, and make disciples" (Matthew 28:19).
While I was at college I had a mentor who changed my entire worldview on discipleship and suddenly I knew that it was something I needed -- always and forever -- and I knew that if I needed it so badly that other young women would need it too.
A discipleship relationship is not complicated, it's simple. It's one person helping another person to know Jesus better and to walk in light of the truth of God's word. Sometimes it's very practical . . . an older woman teaching a younger woman the tricks she's learned over the years in time management, childcare, and loving unconditionally, etc. Sometimes it's deeply personal and hopefully God's word is always central.
That first mentor I was telling you about (our pastor's wife) left my life while I was still in my early teens and how I wish there had been another woman to take her place. I didn't know it yet while she was in my life but I was teetering on the brink of a tremendously painful season and as I look back on myself during those extremely difficult years my heart aches over my own loneliness, my need for someone to be there . . . speaking truth into me . . . my need for someone to listen. It's not that I didn't have great parents but a parent isn't a superstar and there's only so much they can do in each child's life.
If you're a parent of teens I can't emphasize how important it is to have other godly women speaking into your daughters and other godly men speaking into your sons. Already I have begun to pray for God to raise up men and women who are strong in the faith to speak into my own children, especially as they hit those teen years. Don't be afraid to help direct your children (especially young teens) toward godly men and women although often enough I believe they're drawn toward people who love the Lord all on their own.
Is this risky? Yes. Yes. Yes. Your child will probably spill your dirty secrets and even if they don't their mentor will see things you would rather keep hidden but in reality (in most cases) your pride is the only thing that will receive a solid blow.
Could it go wrong? It could. You could end up with someone who uses what is shared against you and makes you the object of gossip and slander. It's possible. Not likely, but possible. It's a risk you have to be willing to take. When we obey God's commands there is risk involved . . . not a risk of losing our security and significance . . . because that is wrapped up in what God says about us and no one can ever take it away. But there is a risk of pain. Sometimes it hurts to obey God but in the long run it's never as painful as disobedience.
Although I have had some difficult circumstances come out of discipleship relationships the good that has come out of them far outweighs the negative. I echo what Ann Voskamp said on her blog today:
I am the woman who needs saving from herself again, again, everyday — the dirty that needs to be wiped clean everyday, the hands that need a cross to wrap a life right around so she won’t get lost.
I am the woman who needs saving from herself again, again, everyday — the dirty that needs to be wiped clean everyday, the hands that need a cross to wrap a life right around so she won’t get lost.
As a woman who is filthy, who needs constant saving, this is one of the tools that God has used mightily in my own life -- discipleship. Women who are wiser than me speaking truth, asking me questions that lead me to see my own wrong, helping me see my brokenness, and teaching me what it means to walk under the umbrella of God's ruthless love.
I dare not even begin to assume that I would be half the woman I am today without so many godly women in my life who were willing to pour time and energy and prayer and love into me. I am convinced that when Jesus commanded us to "make disciples" it's for a very good reason . . . we were not meant to go it alone. We need each other.
Practical Tips For What Discipleship Looks Like:
1. Does it have to be face to face? I'm a busy mom and I don't always have time to meet with someone for an hour so I do discipleship over facebook; some people do it via texting, others by phone
2. What do you do during discipleship? My favorite way -- which I learned from my mentor -- is to allow the person I'm mentoring to talk about whatever is going on in their heart and life . . . their struggles, fears, what they're thinking about, questions they have about God or His word, etc. and then to bring truth into that situation using God's word as the foundation. Ask lots of questions.
3. How long is discipleship and how frequent? It can be however long you want. Ten minutes. An hour. However long you need it to be to talk about what you need to talk about. You may have to set a time limit though. I like to "meet" once a week but again, there are no set rules.
4. What if I try it and it doesn't go well? It happens. I've had it happen in my own life. Don't force it. Some mentor relationships were not meant to be. If either of you feels that it's not going well than you are free to walk away at any time. It's not a contract. Don't be too quick to walk away though, sometimes it just needs a bit of time. Both of you are learning. But if it's not going well don't be afraid to be honest about it and to ask someone else or as the mentor to quit mentoring that person. My discipler use to say that if the person she was mentoring was only in the mentor relationship because she wanted to be a "good" girl but wasn't serious about learning that she would say, "We're done for now. If you ever change your mind and want to get serious about following Jesus than I will be here for you." Don't feel as though you have to continue mentoring someone who doesn't want to learn, being mindful that some people take time to soften.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
teenagers part 2
It was something I've longed for from the beginnings of motherhood; and it grew as Cai learned words and how to string them together to make sentences, and put her thoughts out for the world to see.
(You can read Cai's incredibly thoughtful and insightful blog HERE.)
Talk to me.
Please, babies... talk to me. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know what they did when they were out of my sight. I wanted to know what they thought of their childhood as it was in progress. I wanted to know their opinions about events, circumstances, experiences - what did music do to them... and how are they growing?
It's in my nature to talk (& often... to talk too much...)
But I genuinely find my kids to be very interesting people.
Sloanie recently wrote a poem and I loved it so much because it painted such a vivid picture of how she sees herself growing into someone different than the shy little girl we see in pictures of her at age seven.
(You can read Cai's incredibly thoughtful and insightful blog HERE.)
Talk to me.
Please, babies... talk to me. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know what they did when they were out of my sight. I wanted to know what they thought of their childhood as it was in progress. I wanted to know their opinions about events, circumstances, experiences - what did music do to them... and how are they growing?
It's in my nature to talk (& often... to talk too much...)
But I genuinely find my kids to be very interesting people.
Sloanie recently wrote a poem and I loved it so much because it painted such a vivid picture of how she sees herself growing into someone different than the shy little girl we see in pictures of her at age seven.
Little Seven Year Old Me
The music I listen to would terrify little seven year old me,
The jokes I make now would horrify little eleven year old me,
The books I read now would bore little nine year old me,
And the clothes that I wear aren’t the frilly dresses I swore I would wear,
When I was little five year old me.
But fifteen year old me,
Looks back with love,
at the girl I used to be.
I’m older,
Wiser,
Dumber,
Taller,
Louder.
Maybe little seven year old me would be proud
Of the girl that I am now.
Instead of staying up in my cloud,
I grew up a little, I’m not sure how.
We still have lots of time to go,
Her life’s a part of mine like a silky soft sigh,
Just watch us as we change and grow,
Little seven year old me, and I
And so... a huge piece of my 'parenting teens philosophy' has been to talk to them. I kept talking to them when they were seven, 8, 10, 13, 17... and I sure hope I never stop. I talk to them about everything. We talk about prayer, gay marriage, poverty, racism, social justice and current events. We talk about boys, dating, hairstyles, 'fandoms' and clothes. We talk about friendships and family, rejection and divorce. We talk. We talk. And we talk.
And they have things to say. I try not to give my opinion as much, but I try to say things like, "but what about_?" if I think they might be missing something big. They are forming ideas and opinions - and I know that my teens aren't abnormally smart or socially aware - so i'll venture this fairly broad statement: teenagers are captivating. It's not going to be long till they're grown - and gone... and their teen years become a part of their accompanying, "silky soft sigh..."
I want to be friends with that piece of them too...
I want these to be years where they can bounce their newly forming thoughts off of someone who loves them. I want our conversations to be safe places to explore ideas and ideologies. I want to give them opposing arguments so that they can figure out their own heart as they wrestle (and sometimes struggle) through issues that are deserving of sincere contemplation.
I'm eager to see my little ones grow in 'wisdom and stature and favour with God and man'. And part of making sure that as a mama, I'm facilitating it happening - is by having conversations.
And here's where I tell you what happened today and maybe make myself look a little strange...
It was one of those one sided conversations that sometimes occur with teens. It was a crucial conversation that needed to be had, but it was uncomfortable - and hard. And so I spoke until my words ran out...
And then on impulse, I layed hands on the little woman who was only murmuring in response. Instead of words of instruction - or forcing conversation (which incidentally works a whole lot better when there are two people taking part) - I just lifted her up to God. I prayed for her like I don't remember ever praying for another human being in my life ever. It was my best parenting moment of the day... (week? Year?)... Not heavy, just love. The words flowed as I prayed blessing over her life and our relationship.
Prayer? Is bringing someone bigger than yourselves into the conversation.
It was an instant reminder that this child is the workmanship of a Holy God who created her with a purpose and a plan in mind - and because it pleased Him to do so.
The jokes I make now would horrify little eleven year old me,
The books I read now would bore little nine year old me,
And the clothes that I wear aren’t the frilly dresses I swore I would wear,
When I was little five year old me.
But fifteen year old me,
Looks back with love,
at the girl I used to be.
I’m older,
Wiser,
Dumber,
Taller,
Louder.
Maybe little seven year old me would be proud
Of the girl that I am now.
Instead of staying up in my cloud,
I grew up a little, I’m not sure how.
We still have lots of time to go,
Her life’s a part of mine like a silky soft sigh,
Just watch us as we change and grow,
Little seven year old me, and I
And so... a huge piece of my 'parenting teens philosophy' has been to talk to them. I kept talking to them when they were seven, 8, 10, 13, 17... and I sure hope I never stop. I talk to them about everything. We talk about prayer, gay marriage, poverty, racism, social justice and current events. We talk about boys, dating, hairstyles, 'fandoms' and clothes. We talk about friendships and family, rejection and divorce. We talk. We talk. And we talk.
And they have things to say. I try not to give my opinion as much, but I try to say things like, "but what about_?" if I think they might be missing something big. They are forming ideas and opinions - and I know that my teens aren't abnormally smart or socially aware - so i'll venture this fairly broad statement: teenagers are captivating. It's not going to be long till they're grown - and gone... and their teen years become a part of their accompanying, "silky soft sigh..."
I want to be friends with that piece of them too...
I want these to be years where they can bounce their newly forming thoughts off of someone who loves them. I want our conversations to be safe places to explore ideas and ideologies. I want to give them opposing arguments so that they can figure out their own heart as they wrestle (and sometimes struggle) through issues that are deserving of sincere contemplation.
I'm eager to see my little ones grow in 'wisdom and stature and favour with God and man'. And part of making sure that as a mama, I'm facilitating it happening - is by having conversations.
And here's where I tell you what happened today and maybe make myself look a little strange...
It was one of those one sided conversations that sometimes occur with teens. It was a crucial conversation that needed to be had, but it was uncomfortable - and hard. And so I spoke until my words ran out...
And then on impulse, I layed hands on the little woman who was only murmuring in response. Instead of words of instruction - or forcing conversation (which incidentally works a whole lot better when there are two people taking part) - I just lifted her up to God. I prayed for her like I don't remember ever praying for another human being in my life ever. It was my best parenting moment of the day... (week? Year?)... Not heavy, just love. The words flowed as I prayed blessing over her life and our relationship.
Prayer? Is bringing someone bigger than yourselves into the conversation.
It was an instant reminder that this child is the workmanship of a Holy God who created her with a purpose and a plan in mind - and because it pleased Him to do so.
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
(ephesians 2:10)
“You are worthy, O Lord our God,
to receive glory and honor and power.
For you created all things,
and they exist because you created what you pleased.”
to receive glory and honor and power.
For you created all things,
and they exist because you created what you pleased.”
(revelation 4:11)
And so, even in those moments - I gave her back - and I continue to give them back again and again and to trust the One who loves them a seemingly impossible amount when I acknowledge that He loves them even more than I do...
Monday, November 11, 2013
praise because of Hope
i've been writing poetry on the sly...
It has been the type of prose that comes in the dark of night when sleep won't come and your imagination refuses to leave you alone.
I have a problem in that I over think *everything* - and in some seasons it creates so many imaginings that i wonder if i'll ever have a productive thought ever again in my whole life.
As I've been wrestling through some of the darkness in my own life - suddenly, this week - there was an awakening of hope. A friend sent me a text message at 8:48pm.. "How are you?"
I picked up my phone to respond, but my brain jumped in.... "Yeah.... how ARE you, paige?"
Hope whispered... "Tell her you feel me. Tell her that you are hopeful..."
Doubt washed over me, "No! Don't do that! Everything will change tomorrow - and you will be without hope and without even the dignity of knowing your own mind."
The hours passed and soon it was too late to text her back...
Morning broke - and I could see her text sill awaiting reply. But I still couldn't answer....
Ridiculous, I know.
Finally - at 2:29, I broke my silence. "Hopeful. & yes. That took me a whole day to write. Hope is so beautiful."
The bible is full of hope - (I love Romans) - and the Christian who keeps his eyes and heart focused on the hope that will not disappoint - is one who is living constantly in truth.
I read a quote the other day that, "Any area of your life that you are not experiencing hope is an area being influenced by a lie. There is ALWAYS hope."
I believe it. I sing it. I shout it. I live it.
i'm going to paste some bible references at the bottom of this post that might shed light on some of the thoughts that i've listed in point form below.
* Hope isn't something that I do all on my own. Hope is given to me by the Holy Spirit. I can ask Him for it when I need to.
* It's in times of darkness and uncertainty that I need hope - and even then - it's a fixing of eyes on the unseen. It's a hold my breath and keep my eyes on the horizon for the rising of the sun. It's a choice to believe even when I have yet to see. There is a beauty in the anticipation of hope - like a pause in music or a dancer who is motionless... a closing of the eyes - knowing the music will soon swell around me as I breathe - "here it comes..."
* Hope doesn't have to be full of sorrowful martyrdom. No. Hope should bring us joy - it should bring peace and patience to our waiting - and when we experience Hope by the power of the Holy Spirit - it should lead us to praise God. To really PRAISE GOD - as we faithfully continue to pray about the situations we're in.
* Hope doesn't mean that I just surrender and then lay down in the fetal position. Hope is a word that gives me the courage to act. i'm digging in, i'm learning and i'm putting one foot in front of the other - because I hope - that God is leading me through.
It has been so amazing lately to be able to understand that we're all in this together. We're all carrying burdens both seen and unseen. Some are struggling with things that are easy to talk about - and some are suffering in silence afraid of the stigma surrounding their mental illness, their failed marriage, their drug addiction or criminal charges. My sister shared a quote with me the other day, "Legalism says, 'what a shame'. Grace says, 'that could be me'. Humility says, 'that is me... " & I guess that's where i'm at these days. We're all messed up - we're all broken... and none of us... not one... is without hope.
It has been the type of prose that comes in the dark of night when sleep won't come and your imagination refuses to leave you alone.
I have a problem in that I over think *everything* - and in some seasons it creates so many imaginings that i wonder if i'll ever have a productive thought ever again in my whole life.
As I've been wrestling through some of the darkness in my own life - suddenly, this week - there was an awakening of hope. A friend sent me a text message at 8:48pm.. "How are you?"
I picked up my phone to respond, but my brain jumped in.... "Yeah.... how ARE you, paige?"
Hope whispered... "Tell her you feel me. Tell her that you are hopeful..."
Doubt washed over me, "No! Don't do that! Everything will change tomorrow - and you will be without hope and without even the dignity of knowing your own mind."
The hours passed and soon it was too late to text her back...
Morning broke - and I could see her text sill awaiting reply. But I still couldn't answer....
Ridiculous, I know.
Finally - at 2:29, I broke my silence. "Hopeful. & yes. That took me a whole day to write. Hope is so beautiful."
The bible is full of hope - (I love Romans) - and the Christian who keeps his eyes and heart focused on the hope that will not disappoint - is one who is living constantly in truth.
I read a quote the other day that, "Any area of your life that you are not experiencing hope is an area being influenced by a lie. There is ALWAYS hope."
I believe it. I sing it. I shout it. I live it.
i'm going to paste some bible references at the bottom of this post that might shed light on some of the thoughts that i've listed in point form below.
* Hope isn't something that I do all on my own. Hope is given to me by the Holy Spirit. I can ask Him for it when I need to.
* It's in times of darkness and uncertainty that I need hope - and even then - it's a fixing of eyes on the unseen. It's a hold my breath and keep my eyes on the horizon for the rising of the sun. It's a choice to believe even when I have yet to see. There is a beauty in the anticipation of hope - like a pause in music or a dancer who is motionless... a closing of the eyes - knowing the music will soon swell around me as I breathe - "here it comes..."
* Hope doesn't have to be full of sorrowful martyrdom. No. Hope should bring us joy - it should bring peace and patience to our waiting - and when we experience Hope by the power of the Holy Spirit - it should lead us to praise God. To really PRAISE GOD - as we faithfully continue to pray about the situations we're in.
* Hope doesn't mean that I just surrender and then lay down in the fetal position. Hope is a word that gives me the courage to act. i'm digging in, i'm learning and i'm putting one foot in front of the other - because I hope - that God is leading me through.
It has been so amazing lately to be able to understand that we're all in this together. We're all carrying burdens both seen and unseen. Some are struggling with things that are easy to talk about - and some are suffering in silence afraid of the stigma surrounding their mental illness, their failed marriage, their drug addiction or criminal charges. My sister shared a quote with me the other day, "Legalism says, 'what a shame'. Grace says, 'that could be me'. Humility says, 'that is me... " & I guess that's where i'm at these days. We're all messed up - we're all broken... and none of us... not one... is without hope.
Psalm 43:5
New International Version (NIV)
5 Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.
Psalm 71:14
New International Version (NIV)
14 As for me, I will always have hope;
I will praise you more and more.
I will praise you more and more.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18
New International Version (NIV)
16 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17 For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
Romans 12:12
New International Version (NIV)
12 Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.
Romans 15:13
New International Version (NIV)
13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Friday, October 18, 2013
His Praise
Yeah... i'm a Christ follower.
I love my Father - and I know that He's the One who holds me fast.
I'm learning to praise... and in this season, he's teaching me why I praise. I still have so much to learn, but this unhindered, effortless praise that has begun to flow from my notoriously stingy heart... i firmly believe that it's protecting me.
"Not like that daughter," He instructs me, correcting my praise that would tend to focus on my circumstances or my own position before Him. i see my praises coming weak and ineffective as i 'praise in my circumstance' or 'even though i'm broken, i'll praise You...'
Gently, He corrects... "Like this..."
And I see myself, arms thrown wide, heart fairly leaping from my chest, focussing my eyes solely on Him.
Worthy,
Rescuer,
Faithful,
Redeemer,
Friend, Father, Companion,
Reigning King,
Really... honestly... Reigning KING!
The One who calls me by name,
my provider,
my healer,
my shepherd,
my banner of LOVE and PROTECTION...
And I gotta praise. I have to sing, i have to break, i am changed.
And sometimes there might be a tiny baby clinging to my chest as my eyes meet His... There might be a teenager whose silence is both frightening and perplexing. There might be a busy husband, distracted and aloof...
And yet He calls.
"Praise me..."
And sometimes i want to wade shallow, i want to sing instead of moaning and weeping, i want to praise from the basement... not the rooftops.
Persistently He beckons,
"Praise me..."
And quite frequently i feel lost - both old irrelevant and at the same time inexperienced and immature... not yet arrived. Oh God, will i ever arrive? Am i even making any progress? What am i doing? Where are we going? Am i accomplishing even one tiny thing that will last?
He replies,
"I want you to praise me."
And so i do.
And it's almost violent - the breaking and tearing in my chest as i surrender to Him. No trying harder - just surrendering more. No gentle swaying bending - it's a horrifying splintering roar as all that i am is changed when i allow myself to encounter... to really encounter... God.
And praise is the vehicle that brings me to Him - and His Glory is the only thing that ever mattered at all.
I love my Father - and I know that He's the One who holds me fast.
I'm learning to praise... and in this season, he's teaching me why I praise. I still have so much to learn, but this unhindered, effortless praise that has begun to flow from my notoriously stingy heart... i firmly believe that it's protecting me.
"Not like that daughter," He instructs me, correcting my praise that would tend to focus on my circumstances or my own position before Him. i see my praises coming weak and ineffective as i 'praise in my circumstance' or 'even though i'm broken, i'll praise You...'
Gently, He corrects... "Like this..."
And I see myself, arms thrown wide, heart fairly leaping from my chest, focussing my eyes solely on Him.
Worthy,
Rescuer,
Faithful,
Redeemer,
Friend, Father, Companion,
Reigning King,
Really... honestly... Reigning KING!
The One who calls me by name,
my provider,
my healer,
my shepherd,
my banner of LOVE and PROTECTION...
And I gotta praise. I have to sing, i have to break, i am changed.
And sometimes there might be a tiny baby clinging to my chest as my eyes meet His... There might be a teenager whose silence is both frightening and perplexing. There might be a busy husband, distracted and aloof...
And yet He calls.
"Praise me..."
And sometimes i want to wade shallow, i want to sing instead of moaning and weeping, i want to praise from the basement... not the rooftops.
Persistently He beckons,
"Praise me..."
And quite frequently i feel lost - both old irrelevant and at the same time inexperienced and immature... not yet arrived. Oh God, will i ever arrive? Am i even making any progress? What am i doing? Where are we going? Am i accomplishing even one tiny thing that will last?
He replies,
"I want you to praise me."
And so i do.
And it's almost violent - the breaking and tearing in my chest as i surrender to Him. No trying harder - just surrendering more. No gentle swaying bending - it's a horrifying splintering roar as all that i am is changed when i allow myself to encounter... to really encounter... God.
And praise is the vehicle that brings me to Him - and His Glory is the only thing that ever mattered at all.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
on Faith
I've always thought that I had plenty of faith. I believed in a God who parted the Red Sea, filled the bellies of his people wandering through the wilderness. This same God raised the dead, healed the blind and made the lame walk... I believed all that, right?
I did - & I do...
But this week, in a moment of prayer, I realized how very fragile and frail my faith really is... Do I believe Him when He speaks? Do I obey when He calls? Do I trust when the circumstances terrify me? Do I believe it enough to change my course of action when He directs? Enough that I would speak with confidence the prophetic word He gave? Enough that I wouldn't wince and wonder... "What if He doesn't do it? What if that wasn't God? What if what I think is the voice of God is just wishful thinking?
And then I wondered... where is my faith really? When my doubt causes me to shun a change in plans - when i allow my fear to choose my path - (even when I've been told differently) and when His words to me remain unuttered because i'm not certain He'll come through...
There's a story from 2 Kings that won't leave me alone this week.
15 When the servant of the man of God got up and went out early the next morning, an army with horses and chariots had surrounded the city. “Oh no, my lord! What shall we do?” the servant asked.
16 “Don’t be afraid,” the prophet answered. “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”
17 And Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.
i want my Father to open my eyes... i'm so weak and so shamefully full of unbelief.
It's time for 40 Days for Life again. Continuing my journey in learning to pray - so grateful for a Father who wants me to grow - and gives me opportunities to listen and obey.
I did - & I do...
But this week, in a moment of prayer, I realized how very fragile and frail my faith really is... Do I believe Him when He speaks? Do I obey when He calls? Do I trust when the circumstances terrify me? Do I believe it enough to change my course of action when He directs? Enough that I would speak with confidence the prophetic word He gave? Enough that I wouldn't wince and wonder... "What if He doesn't do it? What if that wasn't God? What if what I think is the voice of God is just wishful thinking?
And then I wondered... where is my faith really? When my doubt causes me to shun a change in plans - when i allow my fear to choose my path - (even when I've been told differently) and when His words to me remain unuttered because i'm not certain He'll come through...
There's a story from 2 Kings that won't leave me alone this week.
15 When the servant of the man of God got up and went out early the next morning, an army with horses and chariots had surrounded the city. “Oh no, my lord! What shall we do?” the servant asked.
16 “Don’t be afraid,” the prophet answered. “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”
17 And Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.
i want my Father to open my eyes... i'm so weak and so shamefully full of unbelief.
It's time for 40 Days for Life again. Continuing my journey in learning to pray - so grateful for a Father who wants me to grow - and gives me opportunities to listen and obey.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
egypt
It was my last time leading worship in my home church until the little baby boy arrives... so i got the chance to sit through most of all three services...
Our pastor is working through a series on the life of Moses - and it has been good, meaty stuff. In a breath of his sermon today, he gently offered the challenge, "When the Israelites ran into difficulty, their first impulse was to go back to Egypt... what do you turn to when things get difficult?" He suggested that for some, it might be a habit of alcohol... pornography... or what he personally struggled with; apathy and laziness.
And as i sat with my swollen belly resting uncomfortably on my lap, i wondered what my Egypt might be...
i wondered if it was my habit to compulsively over think anything and everything, or if it was a weakness that had not yet been revealed to me, but was apparent and obvious to everyone around me...
And then i hit on it...
i was pretty sure that my Egypt was self-pity.
"Unloved" is my heart's petulant cry when met with difficulty, and with a sigh of acceptance, i meekly turn from freedom and accept the 'comfort' of the familiar slavery of self pity. i decided to watch for it - to guard against it - to remember that when difficulty comes, He sees, He hears and He has compassion on me... i'm fed, clothed and so tenderly led - and i truly do want to walk in freedom. Loved.
i didn't have to wait long to be tested in my resolve.
At the end of a long day, i sat down with a flock of young lambs who have no idea the vulnerability that the 39th week of pregnancy brings. My hands ache - a new pregnancy symptom i've never had before - and the end of the day shows my very real weaknesses as my body slows into a gentler, more careful gait. I have had a beautiful, healthy pregnancy - but any pregnancy is hard work. It's physically, emotionally and spiritually demanding... bringing me again and again to depend on others and surrendering my own comfort and vanity for the sake of another tiny person.
I've loved becoming "that house" - full of my own children and the children of others. I love getting to know them, letting them into our lives and getting a peek into theirs. My life has been enriched and my faith has been fed by the extra teens that sneak into my house, laze on my couch and have wormed their way so completely into my heart...
They were playing music... and then the little voice of one of my own lambs chirped, "My friend's dad told me that you and dad should stop having naps together..."
"Yeah, my mom says you guys have too many kids... You should stop."
And i smiled... but tears welled up in my eyes... And i *know*... these are gentle jests... These are my friends - and these little lambs don't know that sometimes i feel tired swimming upstream - so constantly called to a different shore...
And i couldn't respond...
"Yeah," continued one of my own little lambs... "i'm getting tired already of the comments, 'is your mom about ready to be done yet?' or, 'You guys already have such a big family, you must hate it...' It's like, enough already!"
Her eyes followed me as i got up to sweep and i think she guessed what might lie behind the plastic mask of a smile on my face...
i know these comments are idle - and they mean nothing to me - or to the tiny one i carry... and they certainly take nothing away from this marathon journey of pregnancy, and these final aching days as we prepare to cross the finish line... And honestly? People have been so kind... too kind... like, bend over backwards, *over blessed* kind... and i *know that i know that i know*... that there isn't one scrap of malice or cruelty in these words... but in an instant...
i began to turn back to Egypt.
"Hey daughter... want freedom?"
He whispers...
"Yes, Papa..." i pray... i'm sweeping the crumbs from beneath my large family dining table... swallowing the lump in my throat and cursing the hormones that make my emotions run far too close to the surface.
And in that moment, I choose to raise my eyes above the teasing confusion of my fellow Israelite wanderers to the majestic sight of fire and cloud leading us Homeward in the sky... I beg Him to speak truth.
And suddenly i'm filled with a certainty... that this boy that I carry, is God's workmanship... Before he was formed in the womb, God knew him... Abba Father... is knitting him together in the secret place to do good things. The work i'm doing? It's not in vain... Jehovah-Nissi - my banner - is using me, His daughter. My willingness to carry this little one for His sake is not something to be scorned or looked down upon... it is a beautiful work, and one that will carry eternal consequences... and Jehovah-Raah - my shepherd - is so gently leading me...
Out of Egypt...
Out of slavery...
Out of self pity...
Into freedom.
Our pastor is working through a series on the life of Moses - and it has been good, meaty stuff. In a breath of his sermon today, he gently offered the challenge, "When the Israelites ran into difficulty, their first impulse was to go back to Egypt... what do you turn to when things get difficult?" He suggested that for some, it might be a habit of alcohol... pornography... or what he personally struggled with; apathy and laziness.
And as i sat with my swollen belly resting uncomfortably on my lap, i wondered what my Egypt might be...
i wondered if it was my habit to compulsively over think anything and everything, or if it was a weakness that had not yet been revealed to me, but was apparent and obvious to everyone around me...
And then i hit on it...
i was pretty sure that my Egypt was self-pity.
"Unloved" is my heart's petulant cry when met with difficulty, and with a sigh of acceptance, i meekly turn from freedom and accept the 'comfort' of the familiar slavery of self pity. i decided to watch for it - to guard against it - to remember that when difficulty comes, He sees, He hears and He has compassion on me... i'm fed, clothed and so tenderly led - and i truly do want to walk in freedom. Loved.
i didn't have to wait long to be tested in my resolve.
At the end of a long day, i sat down with a flock of young lambs who have no idea the vulnerability that the 39th week of pregnancy brings. My hands ache - a new pregnancy symptom i've never had before - and the end of the day shows my very real weaknesses as my body slows into a gentler, more careful gait. I have had a beautiful, healthy pregnancy - but any pregnancy is hard work. It's physically, emotionally and spiritually demanding... bringing me again and again to depend on others and surrendering my own comfort and vanity for the sake of another tiny person.
I've loved becoming "that house" - full of my own children and the children of others. I love getting to know them, letting them into our lives and getting a peek into theirs. My life has been enriched and my faith has been fed by the extra teens that sneak into my house, laze on my couch and have wormed their way so completely into my heart...
They were playing music... and then the little voice of one of my own lambs chirped, "My friend's dad told me that you and dad should stop having naps together..."
"Yeah, my mom says you guys have too many kids... You should stop."
And i smiled... but tears welled up in my eyes... And i *know*... these are gentle jests... These are my friends - and these little lambs don't know that sometimes i feel tired swimming upstream - so constantly called to a different shore...
And i couldn't respond...
"Yeah," continued one of my own little lambs... "i'm getting tired already of the comments, 'is your mom about ready to be done yet?' or, 'You guys already have such a big family, you must hate it...' It's like, enough already!"
Her eyes followed me as i got up to sweep and i think she guessed what might lie behind the plastic mask of a smile on my face...
i know these comments are idle - and they mean nothing to me - or to the tiny one i carry... and they certainly take nothing away from this marathon journey of pregnancy, and these final aching days as we prepare to cross the finish line... And honestly? People have been so kind... too kind... like, bend over backwards, *over blessed* kind... and i *know that i know that i know*... that there isn't one scrap of malice or cruelty in these words... but in an instant...
i began to turn back to Egypt.
"Hey daughter... want freedom?"
He whispers...
"Yes, Papa..." i pray... i'm sweeping the crumbs from beneath my large family dining table... swallowing the lump in my throat and cursing the hormones that make my emotions run far too close to the surface.
And in that moment, I choose to raise my eyes above the teasing confusion of my fellow Israelite wanderers to the majestic sight of fire and cloud leading us Homeward in the sky... I beg Him to speak truth.
And suddenly i'm filled with a certainty... that this boy that I carry, is God's workmanship... Before he was formed in the womb, God knew him... Abba Father... is knitting him together in the secret place to do good things. The work i'm doing? It's not in vain... Jehovah-Nissi - my banner - is using me, His daughter. My willingness to carry this little one for His sake is not something to be scorned or looked down upon... it is a beautiful work, and one that will carry eternal consequences... and Jehovah-Raah - my shepherd - is so gently leading me...
Out of Egypt...
Out of slavery...
Out of self pity...
Into freedom.
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